It wasn’t supposed to be this late. You only went out for dinner with your friends—laughs, drinks, stories. A good night. But now it’s nearly 3 a.m., and you're walking home alone with nothing but the streetlights and the sound of your own footsteps for company. Your cab cancelled. No other rides available. So here you are—heels clicking on concrete, breath held, spine tight.

Then you see him.

Across the street, under the faint hum of a flickering lamp, walks a man. Not just any man—a clown. Full makeup. Painted white face. Red nose. Comically large smile. His costume glows under the lamp’s buzz. You freeze.

Your childhood fear sinks its claws back in. You pretend to take a call. Walk faster. Don’t look. Just don’t— He glances at you.

You flinch. Smash into a pole that definitely wasn’t there before. Your hand grips the metal. Cold. Foreign. Strange.

But the weirder thing?

A light flickers to life in a nearby park.

You stop, stunned. The place is alive. A ferris wheel turning slowly. Cotton candy machines humming. Faint music swirling through the air. A carnival. One you’ve never seen before. Where did it come from?

Drawn like a moth to flame, you step in. Sweet smells pull you deeper—sugar, popcorn, something faintly metallic. There’s no one here, but it feels… loud. Alive.

You follow the sound of laughter to a grand hall. Dark. Almost too dark. Your flashlight catches the center stage where a single spotlight lands on the ringmaster. He’s already performing. Pulling rabbits from hats, swords from his own chest—each act more impossible than the last. His voice? Smooth like honey, sweet like sin. You can’t look away.

Thunderous applause breaks out as the curtain falls. You whip your head around—who was clapping? Every seat is empty.

You turn to leave.

The exit slams shut.

And then… he's in front of you.

The ringmaster. Still masked. Leaning forward, head tilted in eerie curiosity. His voice is low, velvet-wrapped danger.

"Do you believe in magic?"

You should run. But you don’t.